


History

by Daimhin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dubious Science, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daimhin/pseuds/Daimhin
Summary: You're a history student from the distant future, assigned to spectate Ignis' life for ten minutes.
Relationships: Ignis Scientia/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	History

This was what you got for being late to class. Standing at the tail of the line for the Historical Actualization Capsule, you pressed a button on your cuff (maybe it wasn’t the newest model, but it was light and fit right on your wrist) to bring up a small hologram of the guy you were left with. He was ancient, wrinkled, and frowning. Wearing some kind of… fancy robes. Looked gross.

“Did no one ever smile back then?”

You held out a hand to show the person waiting in front of you. Except they were already going into the HAC, nodding to the professor and disappearing within milliseconds, only a flash of light and a metallic scent left behind.

Playing with your cuff, you hesitated at the HAC’s entrance. You’d done this at least a dozen times this semester alone. Stand in the box, be displaced in time for a bit, watch historical figures do their things, and come back to report on it. You couldn’t help being disappointed, though.

“Isn’t the True King Era already overdone?”

The professor waved you toward the HAC. “It’s only ten minutes.”

You stepped inside, rolling your eyes. Only ten minutes in the most studied time period in existence. You doubted some old man from M.E. 750-whatever was going to give you any unknown insights. Eyes closed, atoms alive, you felt absolutely _nothing_ for a fraction of a second. Then—

_Ignis Scientia was the trusted Hand of the True King, serving from the young age of six._

You tapped your temple with a finger to stop the pouring of information into your mind. So uncomfortable. You needed to figure out how to disable that before your next go in the HAC. For now, you were content to open your eyes and take everything in first hand.

High ceilings bound to walls with detailed archways, sunlight washing over everything through wide windows. The Citadel. Nice. It was strange being here before it became nothing more than the crumbling museum of a long dead monarchy.

“Wish I hadn’t stayed up so late,” you grumbled, checking the timer on your cuff.

_9:32… 31… 30_

You had nine and a half minutes to find out as much as you could about Ignis Scientia at this specific point in time. Making long strides down the corridor, you stopped at a corner just in time to feel someone walk through you. That muted, electric feeling of the universe telling you _you’re not supposed to be here._

You felt it dissipate as the person rounded the corner away from you. Following him, you made the easy guess that it was the True King himself. One hand holding a smartphone (thank you, Advanced Historical Tech class), the other reaching up to touch his mess of black hair, the king looked distracted.

You matched step with him, grinning as you remembered the hairstyles of this era being described as birdlike. The hair, the clothing— none of the old photos you’d seen so far did the look justice. Every historian ever had been horny for this time period at some point, and you… maybe you were getting it now. A little.

You leaned toward the king to see what exactly he was doing on the smartphone. From your understanding, it was similar to your cuff. But clunkier and slower and unable to instantaneously generate the hormones and nutrients people needed to live. So… useless?

“There you are, Noctis.”

The king stopped in his tracks, and you were one step behind, forgetting his smartphone in favor of this new person. He was taller, hair very much birdlike (different bird, still funny), and frowned at the king in a way that seemed familiar.

“Ignis, hey,” the king said, sliding his hand and smartphone into a pocket of his jeans. “I was on my way.”

 _This_ was the gross old man? You stepped closer to get a better look, drowning out their boring conversation. Ignis Scientia was striking when he was young. Good looking in the way that made you think it was unfair for centuries to separate you and someone with such perfectly sculpted cheekbones.

_Fantasy updated._

You blinked and stepped back, tapping quickly against your temple. No! You didn’t want your private fantasy lover updated to look like Young King’s Helper over here. Especially not while you were in _class._

Someone cleared their throat while you rapidly searched through your inner content for the updated fantasy. Your cuff was buggy, but it had never taken mere whims of thought that far before. Another thing you’d have to fix before you used the HAC again.

“Is your friend coming with us?”

“Prompto? Nah, not his thing.”

A sigh made you snap to attention, dismissing the fantasy issue because a new, bigger one had arisen. Ignis Scientia was looking right at you. He bowed his head slightly, introducing himself with all the same manners and platitudes of this period that were entirely lost on you. Not answering, you took another step back, this one with more purpose.

“Specs, are you okay?”

Ignis looked at the king, confusion drawing his eyebrows together over his glasses. “A far better question would be are _they_ okay?” He nodded in your direction.

When the king looked at you next, he didn’t. He saw past you. He saw nothing. Just like he was meant to. He frowned up at Ignis. “Maybe you should sit this one out.”

Ignis sighed again and followed the king when he returned to walking. “Very amusing, Noct. You can’t invite just any classmate to this dinner.”

You let them disappear down the corridor, worry pooling heavily in your stomach. You pressed your cuff rapidly.

“Professor, bring me back.”

Their voice spilled into your mind, static and wavering. “It’s too soon. Keep going.”

“But someone saw me.”

The professor’s sigh didn’t come through, but you could tell by their tone that they had. “Oh, similar to the way Highwind saw you?”

That was unfair. So you’d gotten confused once when Highwind, the famous dragoon whose lifetime ended just before you were born (rip), had smiled and winked at the crowd you’d spectated him from. Maybe you’d rushed back to the HAC thinking he’d winked at you. You hadn’t wanted to disrupt the flow of time, but all you’d accomplished was a moment of embarrassment while the professor told you Highwind’s public persona had been excessively flirtatious.

_“He wasn’t winking at you. He can’t see or touch you.”_

What a shame it had been to learn. But that’s what the very private fantasy functions were for.

“No.” You began to pace the corridor. “Ignis Scientia saw me. He thought I was the king’s friend and introduced himself.”

Expecting to find yourself back in the class block after revealing that, you held still in the middle of the hall. You closed your eyes and made yourself relax.

“Who are you talking to?”

Eyes shooting open, you met Ignis’ gaze. He’d come back, standing nearby with his arms crossed. You looked around yourself, then down the opposite end of the corridor. No one else around. He was definitely talking to you.

“What?”

Ignis spoke again, but it was drowned out by the professor’s voice in your mind.

“Ask him about his marriage.”

“What?” you repeated, pressing your cuff again. “I can’t do that.”

The professor’s voice was suddenly immense in your head, sound waves bouncing off each other within the confined space of your mind. “That’s a big mystery of that period, who he married. If you can talk to him, ask him outright.”

You stopped messing with your cuff, gritting your teeth at the suggestion. You couldn’t remember what _married_ was or what it meant. “What if I die?”

“You won’t. I’m right here.”

That wasn’t promising. They were right there… with thirty other students dispersed in time to look after.

A touch at your arm disturbed your train of thought. Backing away from Ignis’ outstretched hand, you swallowed down the bit of dread that had wormed its way up your throat.

“Do you need to be escorted off palace grounds?” Ignis asked, lowering his hand.

You shook your head emphatically. He touched you. He can see you, hear you, and he can touch you. This was terrible. You were going to die here. After staying up late playing reality distorting games, arriving late to class, and never being able to afford updating your cuff, your life accumulated into this. Ignis Scientia, a gross old man who was actually an attractive young man, was going to say the wrong word, and you were going to cease existing.

“Married?” you blurted.

Ignis remained wary, his slight concern from before hardening into impatient curiosity. “Am I? No.”

Each word out of you felt like a death sentence. “Oh, okay.”

You were going to die, and your last words were going to be, _“Oh, okay.”_

“If you don’t need help being on your way, I’ll take my leave.”

Nodding, you motioned for him to go ahead. He could take whatever he wanted. Instead though, he walked off and stopped at a large door halfway down the corridor. He gave you one last look before going inside.

“He’s not married,” you told the professor.

They didn’t answer at first. You trailed down the way Ignis had gone and found his name on a placard by the large door. He’d gone to his office, then. That’s probably where you were meant to observe.

The dread in your gut told you to stay in place for the remainder of the time. Interacting with people in other time periods could be catastrophic. It was _supposed_ to be impossible.

“That’s right, you’re in 755,” the professor finally responded. “He’s only twenty one.”

That guy was _not_ twenty one. _You_ were twenty one, and you didn’t have a fancy job or live in a castle. You had a single-room pod under the holorail and took classes you were mostly passing.

Hit with this realization, you made up your mind to keep going. Held by time, not gravity, your footsteps were silent. So was phasing through the wall into Ignis’ office, although it never felt _good_ to be reminded of your displacement.

Ignis pushed his spectacles up and pinched the bridge of his nose. His other hand came to a stop from flipping through papers. Focused this way, he didn’t seem to notice you. Good.

You looked at an armchair near a bookshelf and sat down on it with slow intent. If you were careful about it, you could kind of… make it… work for you…

“I beg your pardon.”

Ignis’ voice cut through your concentration, and you fell through the chair and onto the floor. It was marble and flecked with gold and it probably would’ve been cold if you could’ve felt it. You sat up, only your head breaching the seat cushion of the chair.

Ignis was staring at you again. This time his eyes were wider, and his spectacles were slightly askew from the quick drop of his hand.

“How did you get in here?” he asked.

You were honest with your answer. “I HAC’d.”

He was wary regardless. “You hacked?”

Your nod in response was awkward with the chair in the way, so you scrambled up. Ignis came to a stand, too, but he remained on the opposite side of his huge desk. He appeared stricken, adjusting his glasses while keeping his eyes on you.

You smiled uncomfortably at the remaining time flashing on your cuff. _2:14… 13…_ Two minutes was plenty of time to interrogate someone. You didn’t know anything about this time period (you were over the mainstream romanticization of it before you’d even chosen the Historian work path), but that wasn’t going to stop you from gleaning _something_ out of this. You wanted to, at the very least, pass today’s report.

Ignis leaned down and pressed a button on some kind of device on his desk. “Requesting a guard to my office immediately.”

Before you could ask him what that was about, a dagger appeared in one of his hands in a sparkly burst of what must’ve been magic.

You pointed at the weapon. “How did you do that?”

“Better question,” he said, slowly rounding the desk. “How exactly did you hack _yourself_ into the Citadel?”

Shaking your head, you backed away from him. He could touch you, which meant he could hurt you. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

You looked around for something to defend yourself with, but nothing here was interactable. Nothing but the one person who suddenly seemed threatened by your presence. “I’m just a spectator.”

Ignis’ eyes narrowed. “Do you mean spector?”

“That—” You backed away further to get away from him. “I’m not the one who’s dead here.”

You felt the wall at your back, meshing with your form and pushing it around, the matter too much for the space. Leaning back, you let yourself slide through, stepping into the corridor. Someone ran toward you, then passed through you to open the door to Ignis’ office. They stopped in the doorway and sent a wide look around the room. You slowly stepped away while they asked Ignis what was going on.

Fourteen seconds blinked at you from your cuff. If that’s all the time you had left, you counted yourself home free. The dread in your stomach lightened at the thought.

The guard turned around in the doorway, following the point of Ignis’ dagger aimed for you. Like the king, they didn’t see you there. Their eyes roamed the entirety of the corridor before returning to Ignis. “What are you talking about?”

Comforted by both the time running out and your subject making a fool out of himself, you sent Ignis a smile and a wave. You were already mentally composing your report.

_Ignis Scientia was a paranoid man, seeing things others didn’t. He wasn’t married at twenty one, and if I remembered what marriage was, I’d have more insight into that (sorry, professor). So today’s report will mostly entail all of the physical attributes I noticed about him, beginning with his infuriatingly perfect lips…_

He scowled, the dagger dissolving in another flash of magic. You thought that’d be the last thing you saw here, a bit of the magic that no longer existed.

But your cuff displayed _00:00_ without end. Ignis struggled to explain you to the guard, the dread returned like a massive stone in your stomach, and you were _still here._

Tapping your temple, your cuff, you felt desperation. “Professor, it’s time. Bring me back.”

No answer. Not even that uncomfortable static invasion you detested when it came to interfacing with others. You pressed the main button on your cuff with as much force as you could manage. A hard reset would have to take you back.

⁂

You cracked your eyes open. You didn’t remember closing them, but you didn’t remember most things. The cuff did that for you. Bookends lined along shelves, sitting in dusty yellow sunlight surrounding you. You heard scratching, quick and light, and followed the noise with your eyes. No such luck with moving your head. Hard resetting meant your body would need a moment to catch up.

Ignis leaned on the edge of his desk, facing you. He had a basic stylus in one hand, the other holding a small, black book. Using the stylus (you knew that wasn’t what they were called in this period, but that hardly mattered now), he scratched away into the book, pausing when glancing up at you. Pushing off his desk, he held the book out for you to see.

It was a sketch. Of you.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, or why I’m the only one able to see you,” he said, closing the book before placing it into a pocket. “But now I have proof. I’ll send this to the appropriate department, and we’ll discover whose spy you are.”

You couldn’t believe you were still here. “‘m not spy.”

If Ignis was listening, he didn’t answer. He watched you carefully, his eyes pouring over every part of you with suspicion. As if he hadn’t gotten all the details while you’d been out. The hard reset hadn’t worked; you were stuck here.

Trying to bring your cuff up to give it a better look, you realized he’d restrained you. Metal bands circled your wrists and held them in place against the arms of the chair. Heaving out a sigh that was unintentionally heavy (you were never hard-resetting again), you lifted your arms and easily passed through the old school handcuffs.

You glanced up at Ignis as you rubbed your wrists. His eyes were wide behind his glasses once again, although the curiosity was reigned in much quicker this time.

He watched the movement of your hands, looking as if he was withholding a sigh himself. What confidence he must’ve been losing, seeing you easily thwart his attempt to detain.

“Good try,” you managed to say. You meant it, and not because you’d intended to travel back hundreds of years just to become this guy’s enemy. But because that was better than anything _you’d_ done so far. You were stuck here, as far as you could tell, and Ignis was handling it with more mental clarity than you were able to currently conjure.

Your cuff was blank and pressing the buttons did nothing. Taking a deep breath, you remembered the professor’s advice for nervous time traveling. You wiggled your toes in your shoes, touched your knees with your hands, and felt your spine along your back. You were okay. Your body was awake again, the person in your body was you, and you were okay.

“Stay right where you are.” Ignis had stepped so close, you had to crane your neck to meet his gaze.

Intimidation, huh? With your cuff temporarily down, you were two brain cells with unexplained anxiety. So of course, you said the first thing that came to mind, “You have seafoam eyes.”

He blinked but made no move to back off.

“Your hologram was misleading,” you went on, feeling your strength returning. “I bet they did that on purpose to keep people from using you in all their fantasy routines. If they knew you were this attractive…” The words constricted your throat mid-sentence. Too much talking this soon. You weren’t at 100% yet and needed to get somewhere else, _anywhere else_ to come up with a plan to get home.

Ignis took a step back and frowned at you, pink suddenly dusting his high cheekbones. “Stop with your nonsense and tell me why you’re here.”

An easy smile came to you, the dread becoming something else, something lighter in your stomach.

“Make me,” you said before sinking right through the floor.

⁂

Professor K liked teaching Advanced Historical Reporting, but it wasn’t without its difficulties. While adjusting the HAC permissions for the return, they refused an interface from Professor B. They refused it again when their favorite problem student claimed their subject could see and speak to them. The same student who’d claimed the same thing before. They made a note to talk to them about it when they got back.

Getting another request to interface minutes later, Professor K answered with the full intent to tell Professor B they were _too busy for this._

“K, I found it.” Professor B was ecstatic in K’s head, bringing up images of a drawing in an old, tattered book. “From the True King Era.”

K sifted through the information bombarding their mind. “A sketch book?”

“Remember Ignis Scientia? I wrote my dissertation on his part in restructuring the world post-war.”

How could K possibly forget? Professor B was at the site of what used to be the Scientia estate and wanted to interface with K to talk about their discoveries all the time. Professor K rolled their eyes and fought the urge to tell B they had a student currently watching Ignis Scientia in this very class. “What about him?”

Professor B fed more images into K’s mind. “The sketches are his. I unearthed a chest of his personal accounts this morning!”

They continued on, but K stopped listening after getting a better glimpse at the sketches. Each figure was the same, with a familiar body shape and face, some smiling, others not.

Students began filing in, appearing inside the HAC and going to their desks to create their reports. Professor K looked from one face to another as they came in, then touched the HAC’s display to check on their problem student.

Nothing. The display read that _contact was lost._ That was an impossibility when there was no option _but_ contact. Everyone wore cuffs for a reason.

“You think it’s his spouse?” Professor B asked, bringing K back to the present. “He wrote about them along with the drawings, although it’s impossible for me to read.”

Sketches of their problem student on yellowed journal pages continued to flicker through K’s mind. They focused on one of the more detailed drawings, at the faded lines of the student’s broad smile. They didn’t know what B’s issue was. They could read the script easily.

_Six months of my life spent chasing them, and they’ve finally stopped running. Asked me to bring Ebony (“to try food”, they said) and led me to a rooftop. We spoke at length, but no answers yet. Best guess, I've been enchanted by a spirit, and I find our rapport too enthralling for the case to be otherwise. Notes for next encounter: bring refreshments and remember to breathe._

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the prompt _history_ back in August and never got around to posting it. I don't know why or how it came out as this pseudo science fiction story, but it was fun to write something on the wholesome side. Until you imagine how touch/attention starved you'd have to be after a long period of not being seen by anyone in the world.  
> This could almost be canon compliant if you assume Ignis may or may not have spent the entire game being followed by a ghost from the future that only he can see/hear/touch (can you tell how much fun I had thinking about this? lmao)  
> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
